But George the Third, with all his firmness, was doomed20 to frequent discomfiture21. His lot was cast in troubled waters, and he had often to deal with individuals as inflexible22 as himself. Benjamin Franklin was not more calmly contumacious23 than the individual whom his treason had made an English peer. In that age of violence, change and panic, power, directed by a clear brain and an obdurate24 spirit, could not fail of its aim; and so it turned out, that, in the very teeth of the royal will, the simple country gentleman, whose very name was forgotten, became, at the commencement of this century, Duke of Bellamont, Marquis of Montacute, Earl of Bellamont, Dacre, and Villeroy, with all the baronies of the Plantagenets in addition. The only revenge of the king was, that he never would give the Duke of Bellamont the garter. It was as well perhaps that there should be something for his son to desire.
The Duke and Duchess of Bellamont were the handsomest couple in England, and devoted25 to each other, but they had only one child. Fortunately, that child was a son. Precious life! The Marquis of Montacute was married before he was of age. Not a moment was to be lost to find heirs for all these honours. Perhaps, had his parents been less precipitate26, their object might have been more securely obtained. The union’ was not a happy one. The first duke had, however, the gratification of dying a grandfather. His successor bore no resemblance to him, except in that beauty which became a characteristic of the race. He was born to enjoy, not to create. A man of pleasure, the chosen companion of the Regent in his age of riot, he was cut off in his prime; but he lived long enough to break his wife’s heart and his son’s spirit; like himself, too, an only child.
The present Duke of Bellamont had inherited something of the clear intelligence of his grandsire, with the gentle disposition27 of his mother. His fair abilities, and his benevolent28 inclinations29, had been cultivated. His mother had watched over the child, in whom she found alike the charm and consolation30 of her life. But, at a certain period of youth, the formation of character requires a masculine impulse, and that was wanting. The duke disliked his son; in time he became even jealous of him. The duke had found himself a father at too early a period of life. Himself in his lusty youth, he started with alarm at the form that recalled his earliest and most brilliant hour, and who might prove a rival. The son was of a gentle and affectionate nature, and sighed for the tenderness of his harsh and almost vindictive31 parent. But he had not that passionate32 soul which might have appealed, and perhaps not in vain, to the dormant33 sympathies of the being who had created him. The young Montacute was by nature of an extreme shyness, and the accidents of his life had not tended to dissipate his painful want of self-confidence. Physically34 courageous35, his moral timidity was remarkable36. He alternately blushed or grew pale in his rare interviews with his father, trembled in silence before the undeserved sarcasm37, and often endured the unjust accusation38 without an attempt to vindicate39 himself. Alone, and in tears alike of woe40 and indignation, he cursed the want of resolution or ability which had again missed the opportunity that, both for his mother and himself, might have placed affairs in a happier position. Most persons, under these circumstances, would have become bitter, but Montacute was too tender for malice41, and so he only turned melancholy42. On the threshold of manhood, Montacute lost his mother, and this seemed the catastrophe43 of his unhappy life. His father neither shared his grief, nor attempted to alleviate44 it. On the contrary, he seemed to redouble his efforts to mortify45 his son. His great object was to prevent Lord Montacute from entering society, and he was so complete a master of the nervous temperament46 on which he was acting47 that there appeared a fair chance of his succeeding in his benevolent intentions. When his son’s education was completed, the duke would not furnish him with the means of moving in the world in a becoming manner, or even sanction his travelling. His Grace was resolved to break his son’s spirit by keeping him immured48 in the country. Other heirs apparent of a rich seignory would soon have removed these difficulties. By bill or by bond, by living usury49, or by post-obit liquidation50, by all the means that private friends or public offices could supply, the sinews of war would have been forthcoming. They would have beaten their fathers’ horses at Newmarket, eclipsed them with their mistresses, and, sitting for their boroughs, voted against their party. But Montacute was not one of those young heroes who rendered so distinguished the earlier part of this century. He had passed his life so much among women and clergymen that he had never emancipated51 himself from the old law that enjoined52 him to honour a parent. Besides, with all his shyness and timidity, he was extremely proud. He never forgot that he was a Montacute, though he had forgotten, like the world in general, that his grandfather once bore a different and humbler name. All merged53 in the great fact, that he was the living representative of those Montacutes of Bellamont, whose wild and politic54 achievements, or the sustained splendour of whose stately life had for seven hundred years formed a stirring and superb portion of the history and manners of our country. Death was preferable, in his view, to having such a name soiled in the haunts of jockeys and courtesans and usurers; and, keen as was the anguish55 which the conduct of the duke to his mother or himself had often occasioned him, it was sometimes equalled in degree by the sorrow and the shame which he endured when he heard of the name of Bellamont only in connection with some stratagem56 of the turf or some frantic57 revel58. Without a friend, almost without an acquaintance, Montacute sought refuge in love. She who shed over his mournful life the divine ray of feminine sympathy was his cousin, the daughter of his mother’s brother, an English peer, but resident in the north of Ireland, where he had vast possessions. It was a family otherwise little calculated to dissipate the reserve and gloom of a depressed59 and melancholy youth; puritanical60, severe and formal in their manners, their relaxations61 a Bible Society, or a meeting for the conversion62 of the Jews. But Lady Katherine was beautiful, and all were kind to one to whom kindness was strange, and the soft pathos63 of whose solitary64 spirit demanded affection.
Montacute requested his father’s permission to marry his cousin, and was immediately refused. The duke particularly disliked his wife’s family; but the fact is, he had no wish that his son should ever marry. He meant to perpetuate65 his race himself, and was at this moment, in the midst of his orgies, meditating66 a second alliance, which should compensate67 him for his boyish blunder. In this state of affairs, Montacute, at length stung to resistance, inspired by the most powerful of passions, and acted upon by a stronger volition68 than his own, was planning a marriage in spite of his father (love, a cottage by an Irish lake, and seven hundred a-year) when intelligence arrived that his father, whose powerful frame and vigorous health seemed to menace a patriarchal term, was dead.
The new Duke of Bellamont had no experience of the world; but, though long cowed by his father, he had a strong character. Though the circle of his ideas was necessarily contracted, they were all clear and firm. In his moody69 youth he had imbibed70 certain impressions and arrived at certain conclusions, and they never quitted him. His mother was his model of feminine perfection, and he had loved his cousin because she bore a remarkable resemblance to her aunt. Again, he was of opinion that the tie between the father and the son ought to be one of intimate confidence and refined tenderness, and he resolved that, if Providence71 favoured him with offspring, his child should ever find in him absolute devotion of thought and feeling.
A variety of causes and circumstances had impressed him with a conviction that what is called fashionable life was a compound of frivolity72 and fraud, of folly73 and vice74; and he resolved never to enter it. To this he was, perhaps, in some degree unconsciously prompted by his reserved disposition, and by his painful sense of inexperience, for he looked forward to this world with almost as much of apprehension75 as of dislike. To politics, in the vulgar sense of the word, he had an equal repugnance76. He had a lofty idea of his duty to his sovereign and his country, and felt within him the energies that would respond to a conjuncture. But he acceded77 to his title in a period of calmness, when nothing was called in question, and no danger was apprehended78; and as for the fights of factions79, the duke altogether held himself aloof80 from them; he wanted nothing, not even the blue ribbon which he was soon obliged to take. Next to his domestic hearth81, all his being was concentrated in his duties as a great proprietor82 of the soil. On these he had long pondered, and these he attempted to fulfil. That performance, indeed, was as much a source of delight to him as of obligation. He loved the country and a country life. His reserve seemed to melt away the moment he was on his own soil. Courteous83 he ever was, but then he became gracious and hearty84. He liked to assemble ‘the county’ around him; to keep ‘the county’ together; ‘the county’ seemed always his first thought; he was proud of ‘the county,’ where he reigned85 supreme, not more from his vast possessions than from the influence of his sweet yet stately character, which made those devoted to him who otherwise were independent of his sway.
From straitened circumstances, and without having had a single fancy of youth gratified, the Duke of Bellamont had been suddenly summoned to the lordship of an estate scarcely inferior in size and revenue to some continental86 principalities; to dwell in palaces and castles, to be surrounded by a disciplined retinue87, and to find every wish and want gratified before they could be expressed or anticipated. Yet he showed no elation88, and acceded to his inheritance as serene89 as if he had never felt a pang90 or proved a necessity. She whom in the hour of trial he had selected for the future partner of his life, though a remarkable woman, by a singular coincidence of feeling, for it was as much from her original character as from sympathy with her husband, confirmed him in all his moods.
Katherine, Duchess of Bellamont, was beautiful: small and delicate in structure, with a dazzling complexion91, and a smile which, though rare, was of the most winning and brilliant character. Her rich brown hair and her deep blue eye might have become a dryad; but her brow denoted intellect of a high order, and her mouth spoke92 inexorable resolution. She was a woman of fixed93 opinions, and of firm and compact prejudices. Brought up in an austere94 circle, where on all matters irrevocable judgment95 had been passed, which enjoyed the advantages of knowing exactly what was true in dogma, what just in conduct, and what correct in manners, she had early acquired the convenient habit of decision, while her studious mind employed its considerable energies in mastering every writer who favoured those opinions which she had previously96 determined97 were the right ones.
The duchess was deep in the divinity of the seventeenth century. In the controversies98 between the two churches, she could have perplexed99 St. Omers or Maynooth. Chillingworth might be found her boudoir. Not that her Grace’s reading was confined to divinity; on the contrary, it was various and extensive. Puritan in religion, she was precisian in morals; but in both she was sincere. She was so in all things. Her nature was frank and simple; if she were inflexible, she at least wished to be just; and though very conscious of the greatness of her position, she was so sensible of its duties that there was scarcely any exertion100 which she would evade101, or any humility102 from which she would shrink, if she believed she were doing her duty to her God or to her neighbour.
It will be seen, therefore, that the Duke of Bellamont found no obstacle in his wife, who otherwise much influenced his conduct, to the plans which he had preconceived for the conduct of his life after marriage. The duchess shrank, with a feeling of haughty103 terror from that world of fashion which would have so willingly greeted her. During the greater part of the year, therefore, the Bellamonts resided in their magnificent castle, in their distant county, occupied with all the business and the pleasures of the provinces. While the duke, at the head of the magistracy, in the management of his estates, and in the sports of which he was fond, found ample occupation, his wife gave an impulse to the charity of the county, founded schools, endowed churches, received their neighbours, read her books, and amused herself in the creation of beautiful gardens, for which she had a passion.
After Easter, Parliament requiring their presence, the courtyard of one of the few palaces in London opened, and the world learnt that the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had arrived at Bellamont House, from Montacute Castle. During their stay in town, which they made as brief as they well could, and which never exceeded three months, they gave a series of great dinners, principally attended by noble relations and those families of the county who were so fortunate as to have also a residence in London. Regularly every year, also, there was a grand banquet given to some members of the royal family by the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont, and regularly every year the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had the honour of dining at the palace. Except at a ball or concert under the royal roof, the duke and duchess were never seen anywhere in the evening. The great ladies indeed, the Lady St. Julians and the Marchionesses of Deloraine, always sent them invitations, though they were ever declined. But the Bellamonts maintained a sort of traditional acquaintance with a few great houses, either by the ties of relationship, which, among the aristocracy, are very ramified, or by occasionally receiving travelling magnificoes at their hospitable105 castle.
To the great body, however, of what is called ‘the world,’ the world that lives in St. James’ Street and Pall104 Mall, that looks out of a club window, and surveys mankind as Lucretius from his philosophic106 tower; the world of the Georges and the Jemmys; of Mr. Cassilis and Mr. Melton; of the Milfords and the Fitz–Herons, the Berners and the Egertons, the Mr. Ormsbys and the Alfred Mountchesneys, the Duke and Duchess of Bellamont were absolutely unknown.
All that the world knew was, that there was a great peer who was called Duke of Bellamont; that there was a great house in London, with a courtyard, which bore his name; that he had a castle in the country, which was one of the boasts of England; and that this great duke had a duchess; but they never met them anywhere, nor did their wives and their sisters, and the ladies whom they admired, or who admired them, either at ball or at breakfast, either at morning dances or at evening déjeuners. It was clear, therefore, that the Bellamonts might be very great people, but they were not in ‘society.’
It must have been some organic law, or some fate which uses structure for its fulfilment, but again it seemed that the continuance of the great house of Montacute should depend upon the life of a single being. The duke, like his father and his grandfather, was favoured only with one child, but that child was again a son. From the moment of his birth, the very existence of his parents seemed identified with his welfare. The duke and his wife mutually assumed to each other a secondary position, in comparison with that occupied by their offspring. From the hour of his birth to the moment when this history opens, and when he was about to complete his majority, never had such solicitude107 been lavished108 on human being as had been continuously devoted to the life of the young Lord Montacute. During his earlier education he scarcely quitted home. He had, indeed, once been shown to Eton, surrounded by faithful domestics, and accompanied by a private tutor, whose vigilance would not have disgraced a superintendent109 of police; but the scarlet110 fever happened to break out during his first half, and Lord Montacute was instantly snatched away from the scene of danger, where he was never again to appear. At eighteen he went to Christ-church. His mother, who had nursed him herself, wrote to him every day; but this was not found sufficient, and the duke hired a residence in the neighourhood of the university, in order that they might occasionally see their son during term.
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1
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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contumacious
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| adj.拒不服从的，违抗的 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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liquidation
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| n.清算，停止营业 | |
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51
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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puritanical
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| adj.极端拘谨的；道德严格的 | |
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relaxations
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| n.消遣( relaxation的名词复数 )；松懈；松弛；放松 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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77
acceded
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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80
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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83
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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98
controversies
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| 争论 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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101
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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102
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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103
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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104
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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107
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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108
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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